


A Reclusive Lady, An Honorable Man

by TheDesignatedDriver



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bodyguard Sandor, Bodyguard/Client Romance, Christmas Gift Exchange, Christmas fic, Class Differences, Eventual Smut, F/M, Former Boxer Sandor, Holiday Traditions, Holidays, Industrial Technology, Industrial Time Period, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Longest Night is a holiday in the North, Meet the Starks, Meeting the Family, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Petyr Baelish is His Own Warning, Pianist Sansa, SanSan Secret Santa, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, The Stark Family - Freeform, Trauma, Will be updating the tags as the chapters progress, ambiguous time period, first impression, uhhh if you've ever played Dishonored think of it like that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDesignatedDriver/pseuds/TheDesignatedDriver
Summary: Following her years long disappearance from the public eye, Sansa returns North for the first time in years for the celebration of Longest Night, with the company of Sandor as her guard. In the cradle of deep winter, both are forced to confront specters of the past, as well as feelings for one another that can no longer go answered.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 36





	A Reclusive Lady, An Honorable Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Missy1978](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy1978/gifts).



> Hi everyone! This was a pic written for Missy1978 for the prompt "Holiday Traditions/Meeting the Starks" which I took and went completely off the rails with. This is an Ambiguous Industrial Time Period AU--in the tags the closest I can think of for reference is whatever was going on in the game Dishonored--I will update the tags when I have a more coherent description of what it is, my apologies. In any case, I am going to do my best to update quickly around the holidays, so stay tuned! And of course, please leave any comments at any time, I really appreciate it.
> 
> Merry Christmas!

The train was rattling ever further north, and the plush warmth of the cabin and its dressings could no longer hold back the cold seeping in from the glass of the window that Sansa peered out now. Fields of white and the crisp, dignified spines and bristles of coniferous trees had swaddled passing villages and their chimney smokes for hours since they had entered the North proper, but it was now as the landscape slipped closer and closer to Wintertown that she become more restless.

She fidgeted the skirt of her long dress. She was no stranger to winter of this state, of this land like a dream long closed away and undusted and untouched by time, but it had been years since she had been back. The excitement rearing up at the sights on instinct was comforting, showing her northern-blooded nature had never been lost. The growing thickness in her throat at the thought of disembarking, at being seen by the people here after all that had happened, was proof it wouldn’t be enough to tide her over what was coming. It would all be different now. But she wouldn’t be alone, at least. She had—

“Sansa.”

She jumped in her seat and turned wide eyed to the voice. Sandor stood in the entry to the cabin, one large hand gripping the doorframe he filled entirely. His grey eyes considered her as she recomposed herself and shifted in the seat. 

“Didn’t think I frightened you anymore, Little Bird.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear the door. I was just distracted by the view,” she shook her head. “What did the attendant say about arrival?”

He slid the door shut behind him, quieting the rattle of the train. “We’ll be in Wintertown shortly. They’ve phoned ahead to the station—the car is waiting there for you and your things. They’ll get the luggage sorted and moved for you before you disembark—you won’t have to wait on the station platform at all.”

“And they know to take your luggage as well? That you’ll be with me?”

“Aye, the scrap that it is compared to the freight of dressing you’ve brought along.”

The good-natured prodding might have elicited a laugh, a response, mock indignation—anything to continue what was her favorite game, their banter and voices together—but she only glanced out the window again, back teeth pressed tightly together. The station wasn’t far now. Sansa turned back to him.

“Will you help me close the curtains on either side of the cabin? So people can’t see us when we arrive at the station?”

He nodded. “Don’t trouble yourself, girl, I can do it. You just stay seated.”

She murmured her thanks and sank back against the cushion of the booth, the rich red stripes of the fabric sighing against her. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he moved about the cabin, loosening the ribbon ties pulling closed the soft cream curtains over the windows. The private car of the train they traveled in had been more than comfortable accommodation. Copper accents and railings shimmered in the dark wood panels and trim all around the open cabin. The colored fabrics of the well-stuffed seats, pillows, and carpeting shown lush under the warm lights, and all brightened by the white hills and mountains peering in on all sides of the tracks—but none of it could catch her attention like he did. His black hair, sheer height and broad shoulders were made ever more imposing by the long black coat and suit that more than fitted his form.

As he leaned to cover the last window, his scars faced her, partially shielded by his hair and framed by his sharp nose and brow. In another lifetime, the scars might have scared her, when their lives overlapped from a distance in King’s Landing. They were both very different people now. What was left of that life was gone now, and Sansa was glad he was the one thing that had come back.

His eyes turned suddenly and he caught her gaze. Sansa was suddenly aware of how little she could feel the cold of the window anymore—in fact, by the heat all over her body one might have thought it summer. His gaze lingered for a moment, looking her over.

While still burning under his eyes, Sansa could tell what that look meant. Unanswered questions were weighing too heavily in the space between them now. She thought back to her excuse when he came in. _Distracted by the view._ Internally, she recoiled at the diplomatic choice of words. She was used to his gaze and him studying her, and even without that slip of lie she knew he’d see through, Sandor could see she was out of sorts. She had been all week. Normally, he would ask about it, not allow her to dance around what was bothering her if he could help it, but this was different. Since she had announced the journey and holiday in the North, he had remained quiet and allowed her to ruminate in private. But if Sansa had hoped to pull together some semblance of calm and perform it convincingly before arrival, then she had failed, and she had run out of time. There was a way he was watching her since this morning that she knew he would be asking after it.

Sandor walked back to the table, steady despite the sway of the train. He lowered himself to the opposite site of the booth, his large dark form still towering over her from where he leaned back. Sansa already felt more at ease with him back with her in private. She could never say as much—foolish thing that she was to pine after only a few minutes apart. 

“You were concerned about being seen at the station?” he asked.

She huffed a laugh. “When guests are arriving for Longest Night, many of them come by train, in through the station at Wintertown, obviously. It becomes a bit of an affair for the people that live there, to watch celebrities and nobles all disembark, and a bit of an affair for reportage on who’s coming, who’s arrived, what the ladies are wearing, who’s arriving together, any sort of scandal preceding—nothing out of the ordinary for a big event like this.”

“Only that it’s happening in the North,” he added dryly.

She smiled. “Of course, most of the guests enjoy the attention and make a big show of their arrival, and greeting old friends on the platforms. I suppose it’s become part of the holiday tradition of Longest Night. But it’s… after so long away from the North and after…” she swallowed, “I don’t need people to see me in here, and start swarming around the car while we’re waiting to disembark. I’m sure I’ll be getting plenty of that over the holiday.”

Sandor remained silent as he gazed at her. The clicks and metallic shivering of the train filled the space in-between them as the slid ever forward through the northern landscape. Sansa pressed her legs together in nervousness. Closing the curtains had been necessary, but she’d made an error in doing so. With the windows covered, she had nowhere to avert his heavy gaze and nowhere to look but right back. Finally, tilting his head, he spoke.

"Is there anything I need to know about?”

“What?”

“The events. You haven’t said much of anything about them since you first told me we were coming here. You have your own interiority to navigate, girl, and it isn’t my right to pry it open. But I’m your guard. I need to know if there’s anything that might be a concern in—“

“Keeping me safe,” she quietly finished for him. He was trying to do his job, and he needed to know as much as he could about what was happening and where to be prepared. Knowing that didn’t sweeten any desire to talk about it. She sighed.

“Are you familiar at all with the Old Gods or Northern traditions? I know you don’t think much of the Seven, or religion at all…”

He shook his head. “Not many worshipers of the Old Gods in the south—I’m fucking sure most of what people think about it in the Crownlands is unflattering or just nonsense. But I was surprised to hear it when you said we were coming here. I didn’t take Northerners or their Gods to be big on pageantry or public holiday.”

“We aren’t—it isn’t, not like Sevenmas or sept worship. It’s very private. Praying in the Godswood or by a Heart Tree is meant to be very personal; if you bring someone to pray outside your family, it’s usally someone who… it would be…” _Intimate._ Did she dare trust herself to even say the word in front of him? No, she did not. 

Sansa sighed again. “It’s only Longest Night that there’s this amount of celebration—and really, only every fifth year is there the primary holiday that becomes the big highborn affair. Usually it’s just with family. It honors the unification of the North and its allies in battle to overcome the Long Night—that’s why every five years, lords and ladies from the rest of the world are invited to come celebrate with the North and give thanks to the Old Gods for protection.”

“Coming to get drunk and mingle, more like.”

“Yes, I would say that’s a better part of the draw for most people. Although I wouldn’t say as much out loud around people who are really devout; they’ll think it impolite to point it out.”

“’Mingle’ is not the word I would have used if I wasn’t being polite.”

Face burning, Sansa couldn’t resist giving him a stern look for the comment, and she was sure he couldn’t resist the smirk he gave back. Before she could continue, the door to the car slid open, and a matronly attendant with lace apron and hairpiece pushed a serving cart in, babbling pleasantries at them. The woman set down the cups and saucers with steady hands for Sansa and Sandor, pouring tea and coffee and asking after anything else she could do. They thanked her, and the woman slipped out with the rattling cart, leaving them alone again. Sandor turned back to her as she sipped her tea, sweet and heavy, then set it back down. Lacking something else to do with her hands, she splayed her fingers against the soft napkin on her lap, then ran her fingers along the seam of her dress, white like cream and just as soft. 

“And?” he pressed again.

“The events are… well, it’s a celebration: traditions, feasts, drinking, dancing, music—I’ll be onstage for that, but you’ve handled my piano performances before for security. Beyond that, I… I’m not sure what to say. It’s been a long time since I was here. I wasn’t even here for the last Longest Night celebration, I was in King’s Landing with…”

Sansa didn’t finish and wouldn’t have to. Sandor knew. She hadn’t even meant to mention _him_ at all. Gods willing, the highborn politeness that Sandor so loathed would keep _him_ from being asked about over and over and over, at least not to her face. 

“Little bird.”

She was shaken back to present at the name. He was staring at her intently. He looked like he was about to ask about it further, but despite knowing the conversation had been coming, fluster and frustration overtook her and her mouth, cutting in before he could.

“Anyway, it was King’s Landing that I was last even at an event like this, around this many socialites in public where I wasn’t just onstage. And I suppose we will see how well I wear my little mask for them again. I’m not the same little idiot I was back then—”

“ _Little bird_ —” he warned.

“—and _you’ve_ changed too. You worked in highborn circles long enough for people to recognize you, and it’s been a long time since you’ve been in crowds like this—“

“Don’t try to deflect with your chirping—”

“Do you wonder as well, the questions you might get from those who knew you?”

Sandor growled at the turn of conversation, but scoffed. “ _Changed_. A dog is a dog, no matter who their owner is. No, I don’t think anyone will be looking at me, not with you around. Although,” he said, leaning forward darkly, “Will your family take issue with the dog’s _previous_ owners?”

Despite how long he’d worked for her, the question was to Sansa as much it was about her family. The subject was why Sandor had hesitated to accept her initial offer for work, a year and a half ago. What she had gone through during her engagement was out of his control, but he didn’t see it that way. A silent and unmoving witness to what had happened to her. His anger towards the Lannisters was clear, and he had always kept her safe since then, but the responsibility he felt about being any part of what she had gone through, she knew, bled his conscious grotesquely.

She cursed herself for mentioning King’s Landing at all. Sansa scowled at him, the language he used still hanging between them. “I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that.”

“We’ll call it even then. Well?”

“Unless you met my father while you were working for Robert, I’m not sure they’d have any reason to know who you are. But I don’t care. You and I know what happened in King’s Landing and why I left, and I am the only person whose feelings on your previous employment matter.”

Sandor grimaced at that. “Even without a reputation to precede me, I’m not sure your mother will approve a beast that looks like me sniffing around her daughter.”

“My parents know I have a guard, and I’ve told them nothing but how well you’ve protected me, especially since I started performing again. There’s no reason for them to disapprove. And besides, it’s up to me, and not anyone else—and I want you with me.”

He grunted. Agitation was plainer on his features now and he paused, considering, before throwing his next line. “They might disapprove if any young suitors get intimidated by me being around you.”

Sansa could have winced at him even mentioning the subject. In fact, she had done all that could to avoid even thinking about what she was sure would be many very eligible and interested peers and noblemen at Longest Night. She was a young woman from a major house, and moreover she was available in a way she hadn’t ever been before. There would be no convincing many people that Sansa’s sudden reappearance wasn’t her testing the waters for more permanent company. The thought of it made her squirm. She was a lady, and always remembered her courtesies, cataloguing every polite response and evasive answer so she might be prepared for the onslaught, but every word brought Sandor’s face to her mind. He would be standing there having to watch. It made her sick in way she didn’t understand, the same way she was sick to think that she wouldn’t need protection from him one day, and he would leave.

She clenched her jaw and spoke tensely. “You do not have to concern yourself with suitors. That is my concern.”

Her words, or her tone, had been off. The answer didn’t assuage him any in a way she had hoped. Sandor snorted and leaned back, grey eyes still hardened. “Aye, I suppose I shouldn’t be concerned. You’ll have your pick of the lot, Lady Sansa—a scarred old dog won’t be able to stop them from sniffing your skirts.”

Wouldn’t you, she thought? If I asked you to? If I asked you to stop them?

The formality took her aback. “Lady Sansa?” 

“Better that I start practicing your title if we’re going to be around other nobles or your family. I’m out of practice. I’m not here to cause any scandal for you by being too familiar. People might get the wrong idea about what I want.”

Hearing him say as such hurt worse than Sansa expected. Her throat tightened again. What did she care—what did she care if that’s what people thought, when all she wanted was his too-familiar eyes and too-familiar hands? To fool herself, and get her own wrong ideas about what he could possibly want with her?

She looked at her lap. “Right… I suppose you’re right.”

“You highborns and your bloody niceties and decorum. As a warning, I’m sure I’ll fuck it up at some point. Out of bloody practice,” he muttered again looking away, one strong hand enveloping the cup of coffee and lifting it to his mouth.

Neither made any show to speak further. Sansa had a feeling neither of them were happy with where the conversation had led. She wasn’t any less anxious than she was before, and because of the nerves hadn’t given him any more than vague answers on what he’d been asking after. The train whistled above them. All her life she had been trained be a charming hostess, and here she was, dragging Sandor along with her to Longest Night while looking like the whole thing was to be dreaded—she hoped he didn’t think that. She watched his expression through her eyelashes, his scars facing her again. His shoulders were taut, not quite relaxed. If she didn’t know better, it almost looked like he was—

“Are you nervous?” she blurted out.

He looked at her blankly, then raised his brows. “Am _I_ nervous?”

She blushed at the way her stared at her, regretting her stupid question. “It’s just—well. What I said before. I haven’t been around highborn society events like this for a long time, that’s true, but neither have you. And—and you hated being a part of it when you had to be in King’s Landing. You always tell me so. You never liked any of this—any of them.”

Sansa peered with large eyes expectantly. Sandor’s jaw was set as he looked down at her small face, breathing quietly and deeply.

“I liked you,” he said, “And I’m here for you, and not any of them.”

Her lips parted a little, and at once, the train lurched to slow, steam screaming overhead.

\---

Sandor watched as Sansa’s blue eyes shot wide and frantic.

“We’ve arrived?” she asked, voice high. Twisting in her seat, one delicate hand moved the closed curtain an inch, revealing a sliver of the station outside, and out of Lady Sansa Stark’s rose sweet lips, the softest and most desperate _fuck_ slipped on her breath like ice. His blood reared at the sound, and it was all he could do to press his mouth closed to keep from grinning at her. She dropped the curtain like it burned her and lurched back against the seat cushion.

“Gods,” she whispered, shoulders rigid and eyes cast to the ceiling.

As the train finished settling, the door to the cabin opened, and a lean uniformed attendant stepped in. “Lady Sansa, we’ve arrived at the station—we’ll be moving your luggage off board to your vehicle, and we’ll help you disembark in just a moment. If you need assistance finding anything you’ve left in the cabin, I can get the stewardess—”

“Thank you, we’ll be just fine—we’ll be out in the vestibule in a few minutes,” Sandor said on Sansa’s behalf, ever the lady to smile at the man even as she went white as a sheet. The cabin door closed again, and Sandor turned back to her.

“Well—best we get on with it, then?” he said, before swallowing down the rest of his coffee and standing. As he walked up the center runner to the coat rack and shelves at the end of the car, he could hear the bustle of people outside in the station, loud clamoring and mechanical hissing that blurred together in their closed off space. 

A thorn of frustration remained from their conversation. He had only himself to blame for bringing suitors up and putting her in a position where she had to respond, and putting himself in a position where he had to hear it. She’d asked if he was nervous, and he wouldn’t use that word. He was _concerned_ about behaving himself around the well-bred twats who would come looking for her, the lost lady of the North. In a different lifetime, he was good about keeping his mouth shut, and since the Quiet Isle, since Sansa had found him again, his anger no longer ran out of control. But he didn’t count on either of those things staying true over the next few days, frustrating and vexing him now as it had all week. This wasn’t about him, and he had no right to be angry or irritated about any company that Sansa chose to keep. He served at Sansa’s pleasure, and it was more than the pleasure he deserved to look at her every day, and keep her company.

And what frustrated and vexed him the most—he, who despised these bloody highborns and their traditions and pissed on anything they thought of him—was that he was _concerned_ , too, of what her family might think of him. 

Sandor pulled on another, thicker long coat, which Sansa had ordered for him specifically for the North, thoughtful thing that she was. He gathered her fine winter clothing in his arms for her, and when he turned around, Sansa had stood up, looking warily at the covered windows as if there were monsters behind them.

“I should have pulled out a coat with a hood. Even if people aren’t looking for my face, they’ll see my hair right away,” she babbled. She was spinning herself up at the last minute, normally so reserved now with her true feelings. Fright was beginning to shine off of her. Sandor placed her thick pink coat on the seat, and stepped closer to her, forcing her to look up and focus on him.

“We don’t have to go,” he said plainly.

“W-What?”

“We can take the next train back—hells, we can take this train back.”

“Wh—don’t be ridiculous! Just leave?! Go back to the Vale?”

“You really think I couldn’t scare the conductor into doing what I wanted?”

“Sandor!”

“Whatever is expected of you at these little parties doesn’t matter. You don’t need to do this if you aren’t happy,” he said looking down into her eyes very solemnly. “Tell me if you don’t want to be here anymore, and I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t—I don’t want to go back!” She worried the embroidered edge of sleeve, running it between her fingers and chewing her lip. She shook her head, coppery curls shaking down her back. “No, it’s—I’m just being foolish. It’s just been so long since I’ve been out in a public affair like this, and I’m nervous. I’m nervous about seeing my family after so long. That’s all it is.” She scoffed at herself. “You must still think I’m the silliest fool in the world acting like this, complaining as if I have anything to complain about. I… I didn’t mean to make you so worried. I’m sorry Sandor.” 

She had flitted away from every question and glace he’d given her about coming back North, and she didn’t owe him any answers. He hoped she knew that, hoped she knew that he understood. She had nothing to apologize for. There was nothing trivial about this step back into the public light, or the weasels and vipers that he knew were waiting for her return.

During her engagement in King’s Landing, Sandor had never seen someone hold up such beautiful walls and beautiful costumes for the sake of noble image while suffering so badly. It was a rich and rotting performance to maintain. She didn’t have a choice. Sansa performed her little role perfectly, and would go behind red and gold curtains every night and still be brought closer to death. He was working for Robert and Cersei, and even he didn’t know all that had been done to her until years later.

In escaping that, the tenure in the Vale saw Sansa completely shut away, vanishing altogether for nearly two years, before she started to even perform again. Why would she ever open herself up to that world again? After what had been done to her? What did they deserve of her—could ever deserve of her?

But here she was.

He huffed and set himself to his full height. He picked up her thick coat once more, and turned Sansa’s body to better slide it onto her arms. It was long and buttery soft, with thick interior lining, and a brown fur trim around her neck and the hem. As she helped her into her little gloves and other winter trimmings, he spoke to her firmly, nearly a growl.

“You,” he said, “are not foolish, and you have nothing to be sorry for. But I am here to keep you safe, and I am always going to keep you safe. You are here to see your family and have your holiday with them, and if there’s anything or anyone who is going to prevent you from enjoying it, then it isn’t _your_ problem, it’s _mine_ —that’s why I’m here. Do you understand, little bird?”

She nodded readily. They slid her fur headband around her neck, and he helped pull her soft copper tresses through the loop and adjust the curls as she fitted it around her ears. It was not lost on him that this might be the last liberty of closeness he would have with her for a while. As such, Sandor took note to everything about the touches she allowed him, the feeling of her, smoothing the fabric over her and brushing the hair away from the skin on her neck. Her fidgeting had stilled. She turned her small face up to his, eyes wide and shining. 

Quietly, she said. “I want you to enjoy the holiday and meeting my family, too.”

The image of her—her hair, the blush pink fabric and brown fur wrapped around the silky cream dress with its long, full skirt, framed in the plush red colors of the train car, and that unexplainable and unearned devotion in the look she regarded him with—was committed to lasting memory. The sweetness of her nearly killed him.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else, little bird.”

There was a swell of laughter and shouting outside on the station, and the ringing of bells. Sansa took a deep breath and smiled again.

“It is going to be fun to be home for the holidays again. Was it something you ever enjoyed?”

“I haven’t lived through much celebration in my life, or any reason for it. But don’t you go looking for reasons to be upset on my behalf, girl. The past doesn’t matter to me—and what you should really be worried about _now_ is the minute that the Warden of the North finds that a miserable rotten dog tricked his daughter into a paycheck.”

“Oh, enough—you’ve done a wonderful job, and don’t think my father won’t be happy to hear about your military service!”

He scowled as she straightened the shoulders of his coat. “Hmph. A lot happened between the war and now. One look at me and your mother will have me hung for degrading your good-nature.” And then, leaning his smile close to her ear, he growled, “Don’t think I didn’t hear that curse, Lady Sansa. That’s more than enough to show what I poor influence I am on you.”

When he pulled back, the color had risen back to her cheeks fiercely. Sandor chuckled, and turned the cabin door slid open, as the matronly attendant from before waddled back in with her cart.

“My Lady, they are ready for you to disembark—why, are you alright, my Lady? You seem a little breathless, dear.”

“Oh—Oh, yes, I’m just so pleased and excited to be back home for the holiday.”

“Well, we are all certainly glad to see you back, my Lady—and how wonderful you look!”

Sandor held his arm out for Sansa, who slipped close to him and slid her gloved hand inside his elbow. Together they walked to the end of the train car, where he pulled open the door to the vestibule and ushered her through.

“You’ll be able to relax at least until tomorrow—no one knows what train you came on, and by the time anyone here realizes it, we’ll be on the way to Winterfell.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

The station attendant stood near the metal exterior door and bowed his head towards Sana. The man looked a bit more uneasy than he had before, but perhaps it was his proximity to Sansa, the beautiful creature. He cleared his throat. “My Lady, the carriage car with your belongings is waiting outside the South Eastern entrance—we’ve been told your Lord brother will meet you there.”

Sansa’s brows shot up, but then quickly asked, “Were my guardian’s belongings taken as well?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Thank you, I appreciate all your help—would you be sure to thank the other attendants on my behalf?”

“Yes, my Lady, certainly.”

Sansa took a deep breath, and turned her eyes to Sandor. “Are you ready?” he asked lowly. She nodded and squeezed his arm. He turned back to the attendant. “We’re ready.”

The man turned and began to unlock the mechanism that held shut the door. Upon getting to the last lock, the man gave a long glance at Sansa, nerves clear on his face, and before Sandor could ask after it, the door was open.

The clamor was instantaneous.

Crowding the entire platform in front of the train car door, a swarm of reporters drew up cameras and shouted in Sansa’s direction. Sansa flinched and snapped her eyes shut at the beating bright lights, and between the flashing and popping noises, in the first second Sandor might have thought it was gunfire. In an instant his blood was hot, his grip on her now hard and close. He could make out faces of civilians and well-dressed onlookers in the crowd, waving at her. If she had exclaimed in shock at the sight of the crowd, he couldn’t hear it over the shouting, the bludgeoning of questions.

“ _Lady Sansa, have you returned North to—“_

_“—future of the Stark family, my Lady—“_

_“—any word on your previous engagement to—“_

_“—your brother and his role in the—“_

_“—brother’s affairs with—“_

_“—any comment on the rumor that Joffery Barathron is coming—“_

_“Are you looking to be a apart of—“_

_“—say if you will be attending any of the events which—“_

_“Will you comment on your performance this week—“_

_“—will be attending Longest Night? Will you reconcile with him—”_

_“My Lady, if Lord Baratheon is arriving for Longest Night, will you speak—“_

Sandor’s eyes snapped to Sansa’s face, whose hand had gone limp in his. Over and over she was drenched in white light as she stood in the doorway, each flash taking more color out of her. Her lips were parted, and her blue eyes darted violently about the crowd. It was going to overwhelm her. Sandor reeled on the attendant, who was feebly motioning back and addressing the front line of the throng, he himself nearly being pushed into the gap on the tracks.

“Let her off the train, gods damn you!” he shouted.

The attendant stammered over the noise. “Th—The crowd needs to step back, or they will risk pushing her off the step down into the—“

He needed to hear no further. Sandor pulled Sansa behind his massive frame and stepped down to the platform, towering darkly over the front of the crowd, snarling.

 _“Move!”_ he roared. His voice cut through the tumult, the crush of onlookers and their shouting balking at the sight of him. The reporters closest to him took stumbling steps back at his sudden monstrous form, and in the lush calamity of movement and shouting, a gap opened around him. He turned and lifted his arms to grab Sansa at her waist, frozen in the exit door, and lifted her down. He set the little bird gently, garments twirling around her body. Sandor pulled her close and moved quickly pushing through the crowd, questions and shouts swelling. Sansa kept her head down.

One man stepped in front of Sansa’s path, enough to make her stumble. “ _Will you comment on the rumor that—“_

“ _Fuck off,_ ” he shouted, shoving the man back. Muscling his way forward, the thick of the crowd backed away and a trickle of a path formed. In the first breath that the bodies thinned away, Sandor’s long strides became even faster, nearly carrying Sansa along with him as he vanished them from the crowd.

He maneuvered them sharply around others departing trains and walking the station, holding her tightly and taking quick turns following the signs to the correct station entrance. He could hear Sansa’s fluttering inhales.

“You’re alright, Little Bird, we’re almost out,” he murmured. She didn’t lift her head, and her voice came out in a rush.

“Did you hear? Did you hear what they said—?”

“He _won’t_ ,” he said tightly.

“What if he’s—“

“He would have to be suicidal to show up here. He wouldn’t do it. That will not happen, Sansa.”

The skeleton of ornate metal beams and glass that covered the tracks gave way to stone archways, leading out of the station. They walked quickly through a thrush of exiting arrivals, breaking towards the light of the outside. The cold bit his face, but through the rush of anger and focus he could hardly care.

“Do you see your brother? 

The cobbled street had a line of cars, waiting on their own arrival of highborn guests, and attendants lifted luggage into the vehicles as men and women watched and chattered meanwhile. He scanned, looking for ginger hair and seeing none in the sea of turning faces.

“I—I don’t see him, I—Oh, oh there!”

She pointed, and suddenly he could see a tall man with Tully red hair, his back facing them as he leaned against a sleek black carriage car. Sansa huffed in relief, finding her voice and calling out.

“Robb! Robb!”

He watched as her brother straightened at the sound, and swiveled around, the same fine features as Sansa, just a touch wilder, twisting with a disbelieving shout.

“ _Robb?!_ What do you mean _Robb?_ ” her brother shouted back at her, grinning.

Sansa’s face fell, then all at once brightened into a beaming smile as tears sprang from her eyes. “ _Rickon!”_

And then she pulled away from him, gathering her skirt and running until she was collapsed in the arms of her brother, the youngest. Sandor exhaled white steam, watching Rickon twirl her around in a hard hug, and looked up to a sheet of white sky, echoing the white hills of the country beneath, as snow began to fall over the North for the Longest Night.


End file.
